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fox_confessorDisclaimer: A work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
Title: There had been no warning.
Summary: Moira, William’s sister, waits for his return
Rating: PG-13. Moira’s life has been hard.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rynalwyn’s birthday. Set in Maraon verse, during the second part. William had gone foraging for medicines but has been gone many weeks now. Thanks to crazybutsound and ia_ne for the quick beta and kind words. You may find the first three parts of Maraon here
There had been no warning.
The night it had happened, Moira had danced together with her daughters in their tiny nightgowns, going around in circles as William played his pipe for them and their father sung in his hearty voice about fair lasses on their wedding days. When the song was over, the girls had collapsed on William, giggling as he tickled them before he settled them on his knee to tell them a story.
Later, Moira had laid her children in their bed of hay, sung them a song her mother had once sung to her and William, and kissed them each goodnight before blowing out the candle. Then, she had gone to sit by the fire with her husband and William, listening to them talk and softly sing songs of days gone by. It was late before they lay down to rest, the embers of the fire giving only a weak light. William would be returning to their father’s village the next morning and Moira had been hesitant to let this last night end.
Sometimes in her sleep, Moira can hear her children screaming, though when the Romans had come, they hadn’t screamed at all. Hadn’t had time. That night, the Romans had descended on the village like a silent plague, setting fire to the thatched roofs of their houses, decimating whole families before the men had had a chance to touch their weapons. Hers hadn’t had the chance at all.
Moira had been spared, though that was a relative term. What she means is that she had escaped with her life, but just barely, and only because William was gifted. Her body still bears the scars, her mind as well. Sometimes, she believes her children were blessed to die in their sleep, their small bodies curled around one another in their bed where she had left them. Sometimes, she needs to believe they are still there, alive and well, but forever asleep.
Drawing her plaid tight around her shoulders to ward off the cold, Moira leans forward to stir the embers of her fire. She likes the winter, likes the crisp air that stings her eyes and throat. Likes how it turns everyone’s cheeks red. Likes when the snow comes and blankets everything in white, hiding graves and cocooning them safe inside the village. But now the first snow has fallen and William is still gone.
Moira doesn’t remember the attack. Nor does she remember the days following it or the journey back to her father’s village. When she finally woke up, it was to William leaning over her, carefully changing the strips of cloth that covered her wounds. She remembers asking for her children, her husband and receiving William’s tears in return.
Later, when she was well, she had discovered that William had buried his nieces and that knowledge has always brought her comfort, made her feel connected to them somehow. Her father, Eidread, now tells her that she must prepare herself for the worst. That it is late and William was not prepared for such a journey. But she has already lived through the worst and knows that William cannot have died alone. So, she waits and says prayers to gods she had long since forsaken.
Title: There had been no warning.
Summary: Moira, William’s sister, waits for his return
Rating: PG-13. Moira’s life has been hard.
Notes: Written for
rynalwyn’s birthday. Set in Maraon verse, during the second part. William had gone foraging for medicines but has been gone many weeks now. Thanks to crazybutsound and ia_ne for the quick beta and kind words. You may find the first three parts of Maraon hereThere had been no warning.
The night it had happened, Moira had danced together with her daughters in their tiny nightgowns, going around in circles as William played his pipe for them and their father sung in his hearty voice about fair lasses on their wedding days. When the song was over, the girls had collapsed on William, giggling as he tickled them before he settled them on his knee to tell them a story.
Later, Moira had laid her children in their bed of hay, sung them a song her mother had once sung to her and William, and kissed them each goodnight before blowing out the candle. Then, she had gone to sit by the fire with her husband and William, listening to them talk and softly sing songs of days gone by. It was late before they lay down to rest, the embers of the fire giving only a weak light. William would be returning to their father’s village the next morning and Moira had been hesitant to let this last night end.
Sometimes in her sleep, Moira can hear her children screaming, though when the Romans had come, they hadn’t screamed at all. Hadn’t had time. That night, the Romans had descended on the village like a silent plague, setting fire to the thatched roofs of their houses, decimating whole families before the men had had a chance to touch their weapons. Hers hadn’t had the chance at all.
Moira had been spared, though that was a relative term. What she means is that she had escaped with her life, but just barely, and only because William was gifted. Her body still bears the scars, her mind as well. Sometimes, she believes her children were blessed to die in their sleep, their small bodies curled around one another in their bed where she had left them. Sometimes, she needs to believe they are still there, alive and well, but forever asleep.
Drawing her plaid tight around her shoulders to ward off the cold, Moira leans forward to stir the embers of her fire. She likes the winter, likes the crisp air that stings her eyes and throat. Likes how it turns everyone’s cheeks red. Likes when the snow comes and blankets everything in white, hiding graves and cocooning them safe inside the village. But now the first snow has fallen and William is still gone.
Moira doesn’t remember the attack. Nor does she remember the days following it or the journey back to her father’s village. When she finally woke up, it was to William leaning over her, carefully changing the strips of cloth that covered her wounds. She remembers asking for her children, her husband and receiving William’s tears in return.
Later, when she was well, she had discovered that William had buried his nieces and that knowledge has always brought her comfort, made her feel connected to them somehow. Her father, Eidread, now tells her that she must prepare herself for the worst. That it is late and William was not prepared for such a journey. But she has already lived through the worst and knows that William cannot have died alone. So, she waits and says prayers to gods she had long since forsaken.